Strip My Mind
by Fllorence
Summary: AU/AH. The man that never loved is swept away by the the woman that never experienced freedom. Together they raise to heaven, but also get burned by the sun.
1. Prologue - Mind-blowing

**A/N: Hello guys!**

 **Yes, I am back. No, you're not dreaming - this is a cruel reality. Well, I am attempting to rewrite my lovely story** ** _Strip My Mind_** **. I won't promise to update regularly, but I will try to make this story** **good** **excellent.**

 **The first chapter is written from Damon's point of view and I didn't change much, just something here and there. Hope you will enjoy it!**

 **I'm sorry for any mistakes!**

 ** _Warning_** ** _: Mature Content. And by the way, I don't own The Vampire Diaries, nor the Red Hot Chili Peppers band. If I could, I would allow Ian Somerhalder to do cuddle sessions with his pets all day long and RHCP would sing/play to me every time and everywhere I want._**

* * *

 _Hot as Hades early eighties  
Sign another song and make me  
Feel like I'm in love again_

* * *

She's like a snake.

Yeah, she's digging her beautiful, long nails in the nape of my neck right now. _Great_ , I gotta take her hands and bring them down again. It's like this almost every time. Practically _every_ fucking time. And I don't even know why she does it. I just know that I hate it.

She's stripping my mind.

I don't allow anyone to strip my mind. It's a big _NO_. Nobody can read my thoughts; nobody can taste my soul. I like it this way and I want to leave it this way.

But she's stripping my _fucking_ mind!

Don't take me wrong, I like this girl. She has a nice body, beautiful soul and kind heart. Being with her is as arousing as looking in your teenage years at stolen _Plaboy_ posters of naked women. _Perfect_ and _mind-blowing_ experience.

The problem is that I have never been a fan of mind-blowing experiences. Of course, sometimes it's great to just let go and clean your mind of all that shit, but I use for that several much safer methods, for example fucking, drinking or sleeping. However, with her is everything so very dangerous. I need to be aware of every move, look, touch, kiss… Because everything seems like the most mind-blowing thing that I've ever experienced.

Right now she's so beautiful. Her brown hair is spread over the white pillow; her eyes are shining like two big stars in the middle of deep darkness and those blood-red lips are slightly open, revealing brightly white teeth and smooth as silk, rosy tongue. She's breathing heavily. And then there are those flushed cheeks. I love them so fucking much. Or her firm breasts. They always bounce when she struggles underneath me. I love that, too.

Hell, if I were a famous quarterback at some pretty big high school, I would have said to her that she's perfect to me; that I _want_ to and _need_ to love her.

 _Stop!_

You see that? That's how she strips my mind!

I don't believe in love, nor in relationships or friendships or any other ships with women. I use girls younger than twenty-five and older than sixteen just so I could woo them and then fuck their brains out. It's pretty simple math which has been my motto since the day I lost my virginity to the past girlfriend of my own father. This is what I believe in. But I have never thought that at the age of twenty-six I would meet someone who can change my life; who can destroy everything I have ever believed in.

She did. She strips my mind.

Oh my fucking god, what does she do to me? I feel like a little boy when she looks at me like this. Her eyes are wide open and tons of emotions are written in them. In her innocent face. And it's beautiful, because nobody has ever looked at me like she does. Nobody has ever evoked in me these feelings.

My heart beats faster when she smiles. My body shakes when she touches me. My mind is in overload.

And I love it all.

Because she strips my mind.

* * *

 _Please don't strip my mind  
Leave something behind  
Please don't strip my mind_

* * *

 **If you want me to continue with this story, leave me a review or simply favorite/follow my story. I accept any and every idea/suggestion/opinion. Thank you!**


	2. Chapter 1 - Breaking Each Other

**A/N: Hello guys!**

 **I am back from my vacation and currently writing for you a few things, including this charter. There is something new and something that you may recognize, but mainly know that the first two parts are from Damon's point of view and the last part is from Elena's.**

 **I'm sorry for any mistakes!**

 _ **Warning:**_ _ **Mature Content. And by the way, I don't own The Vampire Diaries, nor the Red Hot Chili Peppers band. If I could, I would allow Ian Somerhalder to do cuddle sessions with his pets all day long and RHCP would sing/play to me everytime and everywhere I want.**_

* * *

 _I am a man_

 _Cut from the know_

 _Rarely do friends_

 _Come and then go_

* * *

This heat is unbearable.

I've been living in California for more than two years now; years full of never ending freedom, hot sex and dark liquor. But I've never felt this way.

So _warm._ _Sweaty._ And _restless_.

I don't do this shit. I don't get attached or even connected to anyone, not even girls that I fuck more than just one time. However, _she_ came and my world is suddenly turning upside down.

I thought that I can have control over everything and still get the feeling of utter freedom; the kind of freedom that makes you enjoy every fucking second of your life. I thought that I can be a teacher in this department; that I am a professional who gets paid for his clever comments. But I was _so_ wrong, because control is a weakness and freedom is never granted.

She knew it all. Right from the start. She knew what she was doing and she definitely knew what she was losing. She was afraid of control; though always needed to be sure that nothing would stop her from reaching her dreams. And freedom? That was something she was desperately trying to find.

I helped her. It's the only thing that saves me now; knowing that I helped her become a new and better person. But sometimes, when I think about it really hard, I realize that she actually never _needed_ my help. She only needed to know how impossibly addictive and incredibly easy it is to be truly free.

And that's exactly what I showed her.

The thing is... she showed me much more.

The heat. The sun. The moon. The whole fucking universe.

And truth is that now that I know it all, I can't figure out how to make myself forget and get back to never ending freedom, hot sex and dark liquor.

How people do that? How do they let go?

 _They don't._ She would answer. Yeah, she would tell me a story of how it is not necessary to let go; how important it is to really feel it through and then, after some time, to make a new start. Build a new life. Create new dreams. And get new chances how to screw it all over again, may I add.

But I know she won't be like me. No, she's not that shy girl anymore. She doesn't apologize for nothing. She doesn't answer with whisper to shouting. No, _not anymore_.

She walks away from me with her head held high. She doesn't start crying when I force her to see my pleading face. She doesn't run into my arms when I tell her about the love that I feel burning in my heart. Instead, she turns away and begins searching for her own fresh start.

Maybe - and I wish it would really happen - she will meet a person whom she can love with all her heart and with all her art; whom she can tell everything and whom will make her feel incredible things. Who will show her the heat, the sun, the moon and the whole fucking universe. I really wish she would find that person.

Because I _did_.

* * *

 _She was a girl_

 _Soft but estranged_

 _We were the two_  
 _Our lives rearranged_

* * *

 ** _TWO MONTHS EARLIER_**

"Let's go, Frank is waiting for you."

I nod my head and after one last look in the mirror – yeah, I'm looking fantastic – I finally make my way towards the beach.

It is midday and we're somewhere in South California, working on my first summer styled photo shoot. Sun is burning like hell, which is not so pleasant for my body still devastated by hangover, but at least there is this blue shimmering thing that thankfully brings sweet wind and helps me cool down.

I walk up to the furthest and most shadowed part of the beach. Frank Holing, my photographer, is playing with his cameras and lenses just a few steps from me. He's a true professional, the best photographer I've ever worked with. In June he got an offer to take photos for several prestigious fashion brands whose names I still can't remember, even after ten long years in this job. Originally, I didn't want to work through this summer, but Frank asked me to do with him some photo shoots here in my home California, and so I'm here.

"You're okay, Damon? Want some coffee?"

I push a smile onto my lips, like a true hangover champion would do, and accept a cup of coffee from the always-so-generous woman, Bonnie Bennett, that is also known as Frank's assistant.

"What is he doing?" I ask and point to Frank who is all of a sudden walking to the other side of the beach, right where a small bar with great and fresh beer is waiting for me.

Bonnie shrugs. "A new photographer will be working with us, apparently one of Frank's students from Art College in New York."

"Excellent," I say with a groan. Young photographers are always so much ambitious that it hurts my eyes. Though, Frank enjoys yelling at them more than yelling at me. "That means we're going to work on this scene more than a full week before he finally realize that fashion photography is not his dream job and we end up with-"

Before I have time to finish the speech, my view is full of long legs covered with only mere centimeters of black cloth.

"-painful headache..."

"Evidently we should rather talk about him in a feminine gender," suggests Bonnie with a sly smile playing on her lips.

"I'm so fucked up."

"Evidently yes, pretty boy."

Without further ado, Bonnie goes to check out our set scene - cameras, lenses, tripod, lens filters and all the accessories necessary to make good photos - while I'm trying to gather up my strength and stop myself from looking at her.

She's a unique creature.

Her hair is not as long as I prefer, but despite its boring brown color her curls are sparkling in the morning sunshine, like if they were made of gold. Wind repeatedly plays with each one of them, which gives me an opportunity to closely observe what is hidden under their softness.

She's young. Exactly how I prefer. Rosy, plump lips. I can easily imagine how would they feel between my teeth, sucked inside my mouth.

Oh! And what are we having there, just above the nose? Curious, brown eyes. They are screaming innocence, but I can sense they may easily burn you with passion-filled fire. Just like they are trying to do to me right now.

This is so not good. I'm absolutely and utterly fucked up.

"Damon!" shouts Frank. "Fucking come here you piece of-"

"I'm here, dumbass."

As I move out of the shadows, Frank shoves Miss I-Am-Here-To-Destroy-You into her back, which would result in a pretty bad fall if I didn't catch her like a true gentleman that I am.

For a few milliseconds her soft breasts are pressing into my hard chest before she quickly regards balance and slowly steps back, her arms unconsciously clutching my bare forearms. It's not helping that as my skin gets into brief contact with her velvet softness, my cock slightly twitches.

Oh, holy Jesus.

I have to suppress a groan, but I'm still not sure if it is from that quick sexual tension developing in my pants – and brain – or if it is from the premonition of upcoming frustration.

"Easy, tiger," I breathe out, studying her puzzled expression.

"I am…," she stutters.

I raise an eyebrow. "You are?"

"Sorry. I am sorry."

Then she looks at me. For the first time ever. Eyes wide open and mouth agape.

"Nice to meet you Sorry," I say with a smile and stretch my right hand towards her, unwillingly shaking off her touch on my forearms. "I'm Damon."

She looks down at my hand and I can tell she would accept it, but then we both hear someone approaching us and the spell is broken by Frank's screeching voice. "I hate to disturb your lovely romance, but we are here to work and I don't see you're doing anything more than exchanging hot looks."

"I am so sorry Mr. Holing," she whispers while blushing like crazy.

My mind is clouded by zillions of visions containing her blushing cheeks as I slowly, or rather quickly, push into her tight-

"Elena," says Frank sternly, "stop apologizing and just start doing something productive."

So her name is Ele-

"Damon," yells Frank. "Could you please join our little party? I believe you're the one who gets the biggest amount of money from this."

"I'm going!"

* * *

Twisting and turning  
Your feelings are burning  
You're breaking the girl  
(She meant you no harm)

* * *

"Let's go Elena."

I slowly look up from my sitting position and recognize Bonnie's tired face. "Have they stopped yelling?"

Bonnie just shakes her head and sluggishly walks away.

We've been here for what? Three hours? Maybe even five. And we haven't taken any good photos yet. I wouldn't mind it because Frank has forbidden me photographing models for the time being, but it's exhausting and I'm bored and can't stop thinking about my ruined career.

Annoyed, I stand up and go back to loud bickering, snapping of various cameras and all those noises two men can manage.

"Damon! Not like that!"

"Then how? I only do what you tell me to do!"

He's right. Damon does exactly what Frank tells him, but that's also exactly Frank's problem. He always wants you to work harder and reach higher than what your abilities allow you. You have to put one hundred percent into your work and then add another hundred percent so your final work is not just excellent, but it is incredibly excellent.

Normally, Damon is a true professional. I've never met a model like him… He is beyond egoistic, but can look as vulnerable as you want him to be. He is sexy, but can look as disgusting as you want him to be. And after work, he's back to being egoistic and sexy and just… Damon.

"Elena," says Frank who's now resting on a chair beside his tripod and camera. "Tell me what you think."

I observe the scene before me. Damon is standing on a wooden pier, wearing jeans and a loose sweater. His hair is slightly disheveled and eyes, those blue eyes, are fixed on the never ending sea. Blue to blue.

"It is nice, but…"

"But?" snaps Damon.

"But it's too much."

Frank slowly stands up from his seat and walks up to me. "What do you mean?"

"The sun, the sea, his clothes… It's like a scene from some romantic crap movie."

Damon's gaze connects with mine. He nods. He actually nods! What happened?!

"She's right," he says. "It is too much."

I'm exactly two weeks in California, working every day and sleeping barely five hours each night. Frank hates my work, although he had chosen me to be there with him. Bonnie knows about fashion photography more than me, although she hasn't studied any college. Damon hates me too, although he now agrees to my opinion. And I understand nothing.

Apparently, sun is beating too much today.

"Where would you move the scene?"

I don't have to think for too long. "Under the pier."

"But there is no light," argues Frank.

"And lots of shadows."

Damon looks amused and Frank is slightly taken aback. However, I won't back down. If Frank wants me to do my job better, then he has to listen to me.

"Okay. We can try it."

Twenty minutes later we are sitting in a bar, drinking cold beer and going through our photos. It's the first evening after work that I'm pleasantly tired, not terribly exhausted.

"It was a great idea," says Frank. "I'm glad you finally proved to me that you can do it."

I smile, totally proud and full of satisfying emotions. "I'm glad you let me."

"You should let her do your next photo shoot," offers Bonnie and Frank laughs.

"I have better idea."

"Which is?" I ask.

"I want Damon and you to practice together."

The man in question lifts up his gaze from his untouched beer. He's clearly tired, but I've also never seen him this much… quiet.

"Pretty boy," taunts Bonnie, "you must be really exhausted if you're not complaining."

"Oh no, Bonnie. He's just waiting for his next victim."

Frank and Bonnie had talked to me about "Damon's victims", though I have not seen him with a girl yet. However, I believe he can seduce every girl, woman and even every guy in this bar.

"I'm going home," says Damon and without another uttered word he just walks out of the bar.

"What happened to him?"

"Nothing," answers Frank and as I look to Bonnie for further info, she only makes an odd grimace.

The rest of the evening is quick. We talk about normal stuff and after we drink up our beers, we say goodnight and go home. I'm staying in Bonnie's house which is beautiful and white, standing near the beach. She used to live there with her grandma, but she died one year ago so Bonnie rents it to Frank's students and models.

"I'm going straight to bed," announces Bonnie once we step into the house. "Goodnight Elena."

"Goodnight."

There are not many things you can do when you work all day long and then sleep through the night, but sometimes I can force myself to at least read a book, or watch a film. Also Caroline phones to me quite often, although I don't have much to say to her. She wants to hear about my experiences; stories full of interesting people. I have none of it.

I decide to read another book and swiftly walk up the stairs. I stop just inside my small room, closing the door behind me. It is dark in there, but I recognize him.

"How did you get there? What do you-"

"So many questions, but less and less answers."

We watch each other like two predators preparing to fight for their lives. He's drunk, but his eyes still manage to inspect every part of my body. And I do the same to him, unashamedly. His clothes, white top and black jeans, are dirty. He had to fall down on his way here. What surprises me the most is that his mask is down. No wink. No sarcastic smile. Just burning flames in his normally so cold and sweet eyes.

"I have a problem Elena," he whispers and takes a few steps closer to me.

I instinctively grab for a handle of the door behind me. "I'm sure Bonnie can help you better than me."

"You're scared of me?" he asks in a surprised tone. "And I thought you would like to see me."

"You're drunk and it's late. Go home," I tell him sternly and prepare myself to open the door, but he's suddenly right in front of me, pressing me into the hard wood of the door and bringing both of my hands above my head.

I'm trapped. Not only by his muscular body, but also by his intoxicating scent, something what's purely him and, judging by his lower part, also by something that is purely onto me.

"I won't be your next victim," I get out through gritted teeth. "I don't even know you."

His eyes are glued to mine. His face is vulnerable, almost heartbroken. "That's what I hate the most... You don't even know me and still you act like I am just some dirty spot on your Converse shoe."

"I don't act-"

"Oh yes, you do," says Damon and continues to watch as I struggle against his hold. "Since we met you've done nothing else than ignore me."

I open my mouth in honest bewilderment. "What? Since we met I haven't seen you try talking to me for more than five seconds," I spit into his face, getting tired of his drunken arguments. "You're just walking around with your egoistic face on and a sign above your head which says that nobody can be better than you."

"And that's wrong?" he asks in astonishment.

I don't know what to say. People always reject a person with high ego. But I hate to reject others and I hate to judge or being judged. Damon clearly doesn't care what other people think about him. He does what he wants to do. He says what he wants to say. He wins. And what should I say to him? That his way of living is practically everyone's secret dream? That I want to be like him? Confident, full of freedom and high spirit?

Damon stops my turmoil of never voiced thoughts when his face starts getting dangerously close to mine.

"You're jealous," he whispers just mere centimeters from my lips.

I can feel his breath hitting my skin. Unexpectedly, it makes my body hot.

"Stop it. Please."

In less than a second he has my left leg scooped up around his hip. Again, I try to squirm, but then I bump with my core straight into his arousal and quickly stop, waiting for his reaction.

"Do it again," he whimpers in a needy voice and moves his face into the crook of my neck. I've never done something like this before and honestly, I really don't want to continue. He immediately senses my hesitance and starts to drop tiny kisses on my neck, then collarbone and finally on my face. As he gets to my ear and his tongue joins the game, my throat is suddenly pressing up a low moan.

"I know you want it," he whispers into my ear. "Give it to me."

And I do. I raise my hips and collide with him. Quickly and dirty.

We both moan; lowly, but longingly.

"What do you want from me?" I ask between heavy breaths.

He continues to kiss my neck, but answers anyway. "The question is… What can I give to you?"

* * *

Think you're so clever  
But now you must sever  
You're breaking the girl  
(He loves no one else)

* * *

 **If you want me to continue with this story, leave me a review or simply favorite/follow my story. I accept any and every idea/suggestion/opinion. Thank you!**


	3. Chapter 2 - What Kind of Man

**A/N: Hello guys!**

 **Yes, again, I am back. After almost two months I got time to finally sit down and get through those many words I've written since September. My life is crazy, but this is still a great escape from reality and I use it oftenly, just not that much often to be able to publish every week. *sigh***

 **Anyway, this chapter is full of feelings and thoughts and even a little bit of passion and danger. Only the very last part is from Damon's point of view, otherwise this chapter is Elena's masterpiece. Thank you in advance for reading and leaving me here some of your thoughts!**

 **I'm sorry for any mistakes!**

 _ **Warning:**_ _ **Mature Content. And by the way, I don't own The Vampire Diaries, nor the Florence & The Machine band. If I could, I would allow Ian Somerhalder to do cuddle sessions with his pets all day long and Florence Welsch would sing/play to me everytime and everywhere I wanted.**_

* * *

 _I was on a heavy tip_

 _Tryna cross a canyon with a broken limb_

 _You were on the other side_

 _Like always, wondering what to do with life_

 _I'd already had a sip_

 _So I'd reasoned I was drunk enough to deal with it_

 _You were on the other side_

 _Like always, you could never make your mind_

* * *

Before you start the journey of your life, you should know a few important things.

First, there will be no miracles in your life. No magic involved in anything you do. No Karma. No God. It will be just you, the whole never-ending universe and your choices. Together, these things create what you call 'life'. For some creatures a simple thing that doesn't mean that much. For other beings, it's everything they have.

That is, by the way, the first choice you're going to make - if you want to live or if you want to just exist. Nobody chooses for you. Nobody helps you live your life.

Then, there are other people.

Prepare yourself that people will come and go. Some of them may always remember you, but a lot of them you will not see ever again, because their souls were probably not as beautiful as you thought they would be. It will be hard - saying goodbye. To everything and mainly to your old self after every time someone or something breaks your whole being. But, never forget that your heart is strong. Never forget that you can _always_ make it out. Never forget that isolation is a gift. And - this one is super important - never forget it's your life.

Your choices.

Your universe.

Your _you_.

* * *

 _And with one kiss_

 _You inspired a fire of devotion_

 _That lasted for twenty years_

 _What kind of man loves like this?_

* * *

The man that had showed me the magic of life is no ordinary person. He feels too much, loves even more and thinks about _so_ many things at once, which he would never openly admit.

You can never say you know him after only one meeting. He makes it damn impossible for you to get even the smallest glimpse of who he really is. But, once you do see the real version, not just the pretending and sexy smirks, you can never let him go.

The problem is that I had to let him go.

Call it being selfish. Call it breaking heart of the man you love. Call it thinking of yourself too much. Call it however you want, but there are times in your life when there is no other option than letting go.

Even if it breaks you in the half and the whole existing hurts like never before.

I think that I always knew how this would end. The universe had given me so many signs and I'd ignored every one of them. Because, for the first time in my boring life, I felt like I have a choice. Like I can do whatever I want. Like there is nothing and no one holding me back.

At start, it really felt this way. It was _mind-blowing_ , as he would say. However, then came the heartbreak. And, even though he thinks that I am the only one who let go of who we were together, in reality it was the both of us.

Maybe, it wasn't the right time. Maybe, there never will be the right time. I only know that I will never _ever_ be able to forget the life and the love he had showed me.

* * *

 _You're a holy fool all colored blue_

 _Red feet upon the floor_

 _You do such damage, how do you manage_

 _Trying back for more?_

* * *

"You are you."

"What?" Damon asks while his eyebrows raise incredible heights.

His cheeks are slightly red from the heat creeping into his bedroom through the opened window situated right above his massive bed. The hair on the top of his head is disheveled from the repetitive rolling in the bed's silk-like, dark sheets.

I put my camera on the nearby table and move closer to his sitting form. The room is covered with last rays of warm sunshine that together with Damon's naked chest create incredible scenery.

If I only knew how to transfer it into my camera.

"The way you act," I start explaining, "it reflects the person that you are."

"I still don't understand your babbling," he retorts with a grimace.

"I mean… That you act the same as you think."

Damon laughs in that breathy manner which always makes me want to hear other sounds he is capable of making.

"Is that an insult?"

I shake my head. "Not at all."

"You should try it," he hints and then lies on his back, which moves the light blue jeans he's wearing slightly downwards and shows more of his glorious body. As I study his lying and mostly exposed form coated in various strikes of light, my heart makes an uncharacteristically strong jump and my hands start sweating.

Oh… _again?_

Since we started working together - without Frank and Bonnie - my body has been acting strange. And by strange I mean not only thundering heart and sweating hands, but also quivering belly and dirty, dirty, _dirty_ thoughts. His presence consumes me much more than before. His words make me hot in much more dangerous places than before. And his touch? I _crave_ his touch. Or, at least my body does.

Yes, that's it, just reactions of my stupid body. Physical attraction, nothing more and nothing less. I've experienced it before and I surely will experience it again.

It. Does. Not. Mean. _Anything_.

I had to zone out for a little bit because when I look back to Damon's face, his eyes are curiously studying my expression and his lips are curling into that annoying smirk.

Before I can avert my gaze and just start acting like if nothing had ever happened between us, Damon turns closer to me and rests his weight on his strong arms.

"Sinful thoughts?" he asks while smirking.

" _I_ … _I_ … I am…"

I am now having really, really dirty thoughts about the way you pronounce the word **sinful**.

"What?"

This is too much.

"I am going home," I say and turn around, grabbing the tripod and other photographic equipment, all the while ignoring the man lying on the bed behind my back.

"I won't do it again."

His promise is soft, almost a whisper, but I hear it clearly and the heaviness of his words forces me to stop my quick departure. "I know."

I can hear a crack of his bed, followed by a long sigh. "I've never felt ashamed of myself for wanting what I want."

Slowly, I turn around and discover that he's now sitting against his headboard, legs crossed and fingers playing with his dark sheets. I wonder what those fingers could do to other _dark_ places.

"You want me?" I mumble, my heart almost stopping from the inner shock it is currently feeling.

He hums and then adds: "You are a beautiful girl. Clever. Sexy." His smirk turns my cheeks into deep red. "But I don't screw perfect girls."

There is a heavy question drifting through my mind and I let it get out. "Why would you think that I am _perfect_?"

Damon thinks about his answer for a few seconds, but then just mutters something like 'doesn't matter'. I lift my eyebrows and beckon him to elaborate.

"You don't want me and I can't want you, so…"

"So?" I press, but seeing his annoyed face causes me to suggest a desperate deal. "We can be friends."

And his eyes get that curious glint again. "Why would you want to be my _friend_?" he challenges.

Actually, I can't find a reason which would be good enough and which he wouldn't find desperate. Why would I want him to be my friend? Apart from working together we clearly don't have anything in common. However, I'm tired of these 'who's better' contests. I'm tired of listening to his stupid comments. I'm tired of him invading my every thought.

Thankfully, I remember what Frank had told me and I use it as my best argument.

"I think you can teach me a thing or two."

If only that stupid smirk of his didn't make it sound like it was a dirty thought.

" _Um..._ I mean... that you are really inspiring," I correct with a nervous smile.

He's quiet and his smirk is slowly modified into thin line. "Apart from Bonnie, I don't have female friends. It's not a good idea."

"Look," I say and walk to one corner of his enormous bed, "that one night you told me that I don't know you. And I want to change that. I really do."

It's the only thing that can save me.

"There is not much interesting about me," he tries to convince me. "I sleep. I drink alcohol. I have sex with 20-year-old girls."

"That's what you do, but it's not _who_ you are _inside_."

His laugh is like a melody, yet I don't join him. "You're babbling _again_."

"You think I enjoy _your_ babbling?" I ask harshly. This is getting ridiculous. _He_ is ridiculous. "Please, Damon, I am not a naive girl. I don't want _anything_ from you. It's just better when you can think of others as your friends. That's all I'm trying to say."

Here dies my feministic soul.

" _Ew_ , you are worse than my mother," he mutters as his head repeatedly bumps into the headboard. Then he turns serious. "Okay. But I want something in return."

Not serious enough.

"And that's what?" I question, tired of this game.

I've seen drunken Damon. I've seen angry Damon. I've seen seductive Damon. I've seen many faces of this ridiculous man, but I've never seen him _sparkling_.

Yes, Damon Salvatore _is_ sparkling.

"I want a kiss."

 _Shit._

"I… I am…"

 _Speechless._

"Going home?" the sparkling devil asks. "Then go. But let me remind you that we are going to be together practically every day and I can make it a real hell for you."

As I said, he's the devil.

I turn furious and then angry and then I just have to ask.

"You are blackmailing me?"

"You want something from me. It's natural that I want something too," he explains and that annoying smirk is back again.

"You are worse than my friend Caroline," I mutter to myself, but he's already standing and taking long steps towards me. I am trying to back away from him, only to find my back pressing against the wall.

 _Again._

He's in front of me in less than two seconds and I get déjà vu. "Enough talking. I want a kiss. Then I can tell you one really funny story about how I lost virginity to my high school teacher."

I want to be disgusted with him, especially when he's smirking again, but suddenly his lips are in my sight and I can't stop myself from wetting my own.

This _is_ ridiculous.

"One kiss," I whisper as my hands grab his bare shoulders.

"With or without tongue?"

I smack the palm of my right hand against his smirking mouth. " _Enough_ ," I press through gritted teeth.

Damon mutters something, but I am too distracted with the smoothness of his skin to notice what it was. My fingers slide to his cheeks; my eyes inspect his lips and my breathing gets hundred times quicker.

As his cheeks get covered in a cute blush, I begin leaning closer, closer, closer, until our breaths are mingling, and then...

I kiss the devil.

It's short, sweet, almost chaste, but utterly _nice_.

And definitely _not_ enough.

He feels it too. Of course he does. He's the one who mutters 'perfect' and with his hands on my hips he slams my whole body into the wall behind me. As crazy as it sounds, the clever girl in me is suddenly forgotten. Dirty thoughts exit the place where they had been hiding and start controlling my body.

I'm back against the wall, but today I'm not in the prison.

Today, I am free.

* * *

 _But I can't beat you_

 _Cause I'm still with you_

 _Oh mercy I implore_

 _How do you do it?_

 _I think I'm through it_

 _Then I'm back against the wall_

* * *

Her lips are flawless, just like I'd been imagining since the first time I laid my eyes upon them. The way they slowly move against mine, their incredible softness and the taste…

Almost as good as my mother's chocolate cake.

It doesn't take them long to ask me for more and I gladly give it to them as I delicately probe their opening with my eager tongue. I take in the shaky breath those perfect lips let out for me and then get my first taste of _her_.

But just when Elena moans and her own tongue meets mine for the first time ever, the door to my bedroom opens with a big _bang_ and a soon-to-be-dead blonde bimbo storms inside.

Any other time? I would suggest doing a hot group sex. But with Elena? Not possible.

Even my dick knows that the party is over.

" _Damon?!_ "

 _Oh no_ , not this again.

"What are you doing with _her_?"

I study closely the face of our blonde intruder and discover that it's the girl I was fucking just mere hours ago. Suddenly I get the feeling that I don't want Elena listening to this conversation. I think to myself that it's because I _want_ Elena and not because I am ashamed of my night _and_ morning activities.

Yes, that's _exactly_ the reason.

"What are _you_ doing _here_?" I question while Elena slowly backs away from me. I watch her face transforming from utter shock to guilt mixed with anger.

Lots of anger.

She's out of the door before I have the chance to say anything else.

* * *

 _What kind of man loves like this?_

* * *

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